


were you sad that day, you've watched 44 sunsets?

by odetojoy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bittersweet, Experimental Style, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, its kinda angsty but they get back together i promise!!, sort of experimental maybe idk dude it's experimental for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6360811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odetojoy/pseuds/odetojoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love you,” Oikawa whispers in his ear as they part, and usually Hajime would stop him from saying such things, but today is an exception and a sob escapes his lips before he can help it. He squeezes Oikawa tighter against him and tangles his fingers in his hair, kisses his cheek and closes his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	were you sad that day, you've watched 44 sunsets?

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this fic is kind of a by-product of me 1) being a fucking mess and 2) reading walt whitman's "song of myself" and seeing a quote from "the little prince" on tumblr and making me want to write something sort of bittersweet that involves both of those works, which are inherently positive and happy.  
> anyway i have an exam in like 3 hours but i've been editing this entire morning i hate myself

_“You know, when a person is very, very sad, they like sunsets.”_

 

* * *

 

Hajime holds his umbrella close to his chest, wind blowing wildly and almost snapping its handle, his shoes already wet. The rain falls in every possible direction, and it’s not helping Hajime’s gloomy mood since he woke up one bit. He adjusts the left earbud to fit his ear better, repeats words for the English vocab test he has today and tries to ignore the puddle he just drenched his foot into. _Fuck_. Well, it’s not like he expected the day to get much better than that anyway. He can already feel his tie sit uncomfortably around his neck, and the school hour hasn’t even started yet.

A car honks somewhere near him, he knows it’s because he’s been staying in the same spot in the middle of the road for a few more than too many seconds (traffic on Mondays was the absolute worst) because of his distraction with that _fucking_ puddle. He shakes it off and half jogs across the street towards the school. A couple dozen kids sit outside the school in their wrinkled uniforms; some chatting and laughing, while the others - in more secluded corners near the school, where they know the cameras won’t catch them - smoking; hushed whispers and stifled coughs. Honestly, on days like these, Hajime feels itching for a smoke as well, but tells himself he can’t; he’s an athlete, for god’s sake.

There’s a big hole on the road in front of school. A car rushes past and dips a wheel in the process, splashing water from the downpour everywhere. A few girls shriek after they get their freshly cleaned uniforms filthy, while boys with weird haircuts and cheeky grins laugh. To be frank, Hajime hates this time of the year. Early spring, while in theory it sounds great (hey, warmer days after the cold and snow during the winter!), in practice, it is not so much. Far too many showers a day (he knows it’s _really_ bad when he catches himself saying stuff like: “It’s been a nice day. Only rained three times.”), pollen, which of course carries sneezing and stuffy nose with itself - and that’s pretty much on par with death itself.

Of course, along with all of that, there is usual school-related stuff. Too many tests, weird teachers he could do without, volleyball.

Volleyball.

The very thought, of course, leads him to thinking to a certain setter that just can’t get out of his head nowadays. _That dick_ who’s been overworking himself these days, but Hajime knows it’s not his business to fuss and worry now, so he grudgingly accepts not to say anything.

That same dick who he really does want to avoid today, if so possible; but it’s obviously not - judging from the smiling face and a signature wave that meets him at the gates.

“Mornin’, Iwa-chan!”

* * *

  
_"And were you very, very sad on the day you’ve watched forty-four sunsets?”_

 

* * *

  
  


They don’t talk about it at all.

At. All.

It’s eating Hajime alive.

They meet at the school gates and Hajime is ready to sulk and bitch for the rest of the day, for them not to talk at all or for Oikawa to just say _something_ about everything that’s happening, has been happening for so long and now is just. Not there. He’s expecting a fight, avoidance of any sort of conversation or contact, _anything_ \- just not this. Oikawa smiles at him brightly (all fake) and waves (Hajime can see the strain of his muscles at the movement), greets him with that annoying voice of his and Hajime can already feel a migraine forming. He is confused. But most of all, relief rushes through his bones, more than he could ever expect. He doesn’t know if this is what he _needs_ , but it is what he _wants_ now. Doesn’t want to repeat the ghosts of something before and something that still hurts, is still a fresh wound.

Oikawa used to tell him he thinks of other people too much, even though he doesn’t look like it. That he puts other people first always, without fail; forgetting about his own necessities in the process. Oikawa jokes there’s an altruistic streak somewhere deep in Hajime, although he doesn’t dare show it to people. Hajime punches his shoulder for that, scowling deeply and “making his already ugly face even uglier” as Oikawa had said it.

The thing is, it’s probably that masochistic, _altruistic_ part of Hajime that makes him bite his tongue and not bring anything up the entire day. Every time he feels like snapping (at lunch, it’s because they had both recoiled when they accidentally brushed shoulders and knees at the same time), or yelling at Oikawa (almost every second of the goddamned day, if he’s being honest), he stops and lets himself look at the faint lines of sadness and exhaustion on the other’s face. He thinks he’s masking it so well, so professionally - and he actually is. It’s just that this is _Iwaizumi and Oikawa_ we’re talking about. It would be weird if Hajime _didn’t_ notice it.

So he snaps his mouth shut and considers asking for a cigarette from that kids by the school. He knows it’s stupid, definitely won’t do it, but the thought entertains his mind for solid few seconds when Oikawa bites his lip looking like he’s about to cry.

There’s something constricting in Hajime’s chest.

* * *

_But the Little Prince did not reply._

* * *

 

  


He doesn’t know how they ended up like this.

One moment they’ve just entered Hajime’s home, preparing for a cram session for Physics exam in a few days; the other they’re kissing on the couch, heated and hurried; the third they’re fucking in Hajime’s room.

And it _hurts_. Not like the rough sex you’d expect, but from the opposite. Oikawa pieces him apart bit by bit, inch by inch. A slow drag of tongue down his abdomen. A ghost of breath over his ear. Fingers tentative but knowing, exploring everything again and again and again.

And Hajime does the same. Oikawa is _warm_ and it’s pulling Hajime closer, closer. He presses their bodies together more, as much as he possibly can, until they can’t get much nearer. He burrows his mouth in the crook of Oikawa’s neck and feels a shiver run through the other’s body. Hushed, soft moans and breaths fill the room. Hajime swirls his tongue over the softly pink spot, soothes it.

It hurts because throughout the whole ordeal, he knows it won’t last. It doesn’t change anything. Because Oikawa doesn’t change his mind about things that matter and he’s stubborn and immature. Just like him.

The last time Hajime lays with him, he smells of lavender shampoo and sweat, smiles _that_ smile of his Hajime has never quite been able to decode and doesn’t say much except for the quiet gasps of “ _Hajime_ ” and mumbled swears.

_I miss you._

The last time they lay together, Oikawa scrambles to dress the minute he’s regained his breath, hair disheveled and still smelling so much like sex, a bruise forming on his neck.

“I--I need to go.”

Hajime stares at him blankly, before nodding slowly, almost resigned.

“Yeah.”

Oikawa clears his throat, refuses to look at him. “This was, um. Probably a mistake.”

He expected this, he really did; doesn’t mean it hurts any less. He can feel his chest constricting and a lump forming in his throat, can’t find it in himself to breathe. God, he was so _stupid._

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t look at Oikawa as he leaves, doesn’t look at his back that one time. He can hear the door click shut and the hurried steps down the stairs, then the slam of the front door.

_Please stay._

He’s pretty sure he imagined the sob before Oikawa left the house.

 

* * *

THE HIERARCHY OF ANGELS

PHYSICAL WORLD

 

MAN

kingdom

 

ANIMALS

PLANTS

MINERALS

* * *

 

Life goes on as usual, as it was to be expected.

He passes all his exams with excellent marks (his mother hugs him tights and makes a big feast. his father doesn’t fuss over him as much but has that proud look on his face that says more than he could probably put into words.), he learns how to cook more than just boiled eggs, which has him visiting his grandmother more often to cook for her and help her around the house. They lose at the Spring High - they are all aching days after that. Hajime loses his appetite for a couple of days, Oikawa punches a wall in the locker room when everyone else’s left and his fist bleeds all over the place. Hajime wraps it up in bandages for him, mutters curses under his breath.

He gets accepted into university in Kyoto, loves the program and is sure everything in that aspect has worked out perfectly for him. His parents think it’s a good opportunity for him, something about straightening him for later in life, although they wish it would be closer to home, obviously; he finds relief in the distance. Oikawa comes a few days earlier with a sports scholarship for Tokyo, cries happy tears (he always cries) and takes all the third years to dinner. The entire team bakes him a cake two days later, all with a horribly tacky glazure and ‘#1’ on the top. (Hajime and his mother baked the cake that morning, Hanamaki stood in the room and played video games on his handheld console, disregarding his promise to help.) Oikawa cries once again, to everyone’s disdain.

He meets a girl, Kei, and she’s confident and funny and her hair, which is always up in a ponytail, looks so soft Hajime thinks it’s unreal. She plays soccer and they meet after two men in the dark street at night surround her, looking as if they had no good intentions and he tries to play the hero by getting in-between all of that but she knocks one of them out before he has a chance to do anything.

They go out a few of times; to the movies, have lunch one Saturday, Hajime teaches her to play volleyball and she tells him his dribbling needs _way_ more work when he picks up a soccer ball.

In the end, she sees right through him, despite knowing him such a short while.

“You’re still in love with someone else, aren’t you?” she says while slurping a milkshake at the park one day. They’re sitting on the grass with one of their school blazers as a blanket under their bodies, while they look at the sun setting before them.

“What?”

She shrugs. “It’s okay. I get it.”

Hajime opens and closes his mouth a few times like a fish, knows he probably looks stupid.

“You get it?” he repeats her words instead, phrasing it like a question.

She laughs but it sounds tired, hollow. “Yeah, I’m the same.”

In the end, Hajime doesn’t get a girlfriend, but rather someone he can play sports with and drink strawberry flavored milkshakes on the grass while talking about boys and whatnot. He tells her about Oikawa and how much he knows both of them are hurting, says he thinks going to college is the only way to make things easier. (Kei nods her head and agrees.) She tells him about a boy she slept with when she wasn’t ready because she thought it would keep him from leaving her. It didn’t. (At that, Hajime hugs her tight and feels his own heart breaking for her.)

He tells her of the time they ended up in his bed and how they don’t talk about it one bit, as if they’d get burned if they did. He tells her of all the strange glances Oikawa sends him when he thinks he doesn’t notice and how he says “take care of yourself” instead of goodbye every day they part their ways at the curve of the street.

“You miss him a lot, don’t you?”

“Can you miss someone you still see every day?”

“Yes.”

“Then I do.”

 

* * *

_"Do you take it I would astonish? Does the daylight astonish? Does the early redstart twittering through the woods? Do I astonish more than they?”_

* * *

  
It’s pathetic, he thinks, that he once again finds himself in Oikawa Tooru’s bed.

This time, though, is nothing like the last - there are no gentle touches, tentative fingers and gentle hands. Hands fist in Hajime’s hair and pull, blunt nails scrape across his back, along the spine, almost as if tracing it. He feels the ache in his bones and muscles, wrestles through it and thrusts again and again. When he wakes up next morning, he will find bruises and bite marks scattered across his chest, neck, hipbones. Knows Oikawa will too. Somehow he won’t be able to stop tracing them over his body, almost unconsciously, as if to remind himself that what happened was real.

Oikawa looks captivating like this; mouth hung open, breathing heavily,’ _Hajime’_ s spilling from his lips and back arching in a way that makes him seem like a Greek god of sort. It’s a scene he’s seen countless times before, his expression, the noises coming from him; everything. But it still manages to find a way to be completely different from anything before, because Hajime can’t pretend. All throughout the entire ordeal, there’s a nagging thought at the corners of his mind that just won’t _leave_.

This time, they don’t say anything to each other as Hajime dresses himself and turns to leave, Oikawa staring out of the window with a carefully blank look on his face.

Hajime doesn’t say goodbye as he leaves, neither does Oikawa.

He wants to laugh at himself, to cry, to punch something; because it _hurts_. And it seems he can’t breathe.

 

* * *

_“Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.”_

* * *

 

 

The worst are, he thinks, the normal days between them.

Those are the days they meet at the school gates together and share an onigiri before class because neither of them can eat more than a half that early in the morning. The days where they walk to their respective classrooms and talk and bicker at the same time, leaving an aura of happiness behind them. They meet at lunch and go on the roof or behind the school, kids who smoke cigarette after a cigarette next to them while they’re tossing the volley ball back and forth, playful teasing spilling from their lips. On these days, Hajime finds it hard to find where a border between friendship and romantic behavior is. He watches the way Oikawa smiles at him, corners of eyes crinkled and mouth turned upwards in a relaxed way it makes Hajime’s heart ache in such a beautiful way he thinks he must be a masochist. Oikawa complains about his Math teacher being a spawn of Satan and Hajime talks how he’s pretty sure English teacher looks at girls’ cleavage about sixty percent of the class.

“Gross,” he mumbles while spiking a particularly good toss sent his way. It bounces off the wall opposite and right into him, reminding him exactly why volleyball practice is probably not a good idea at a place like this.

Oikawa waves his hands around in such an overly dramatic way only he can manage. “Oh, Iwa-chan, don’t be jealous because you’re not attractive enough for your teachers to have the hots for you!”

“I’m gonna spike this ball right into your face.”

“You know your threats don’t have any influence anymore, honey.”

Hajime feels a pang of annoyance. “Don’t call me that.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes in mock exasperations, but for once decides to not prod anything further.

They toss and spike the ball back and forth until the bell rings; and even then they linger there for a few seconds too long as the other kids rub the heels of their sneakers onto the cigarette butts on the ground, watching the leaves flutter in the wind.

 

Oikawa texts him two hours later while Hajime’s in his Literature class, phone buzzing under the desk in an annoying way and making everyone in the room turn towards him, shooting accusing looks. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

_1:20 p.m._

_holy shit he’s looking right at mutsuki’s boobs wtf_

_1:21 p.m._

_so gross lmao_

Hajime smirks to himself while looking down, trying to hide the phone from his teacher.

_1:23_

_I told you._

 

They walk back home together and laugh and compete on who can get to the store to get the ice cream faster. Sun sets behind them as they stand with their knees bent and lean on the rail and gasp for breath. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on Oikawa’s forehead, and Hajime has to fight the urge to wipe it off for him. On these days, he feels a strange sort of melancholy.

It’s not just sadness, no. It can’t be classified as something that simple. It’s more like there’s an ache somewhere deep in his chest, clawing at everything he feels and every emotion; it’s there, ever-present and no matter what happens, he can’t ignore it. But it’s happiness too. In a way, he feels almost content with being sad, because no matter if he can or can’t kiss or hold him, he can still make and see him smile. He thinks, once again, that he must be a masochist, because who in the world would enjoy being hurt? He watches Oikawa nibble on his cone and fumble with getting ice cream all over his chin, and it’s almost like they’re back at square one again - no complicated emotions or bad decisions coming between them.

“Maybe I should start a rock band,” says Oikawa, licking the ice cream off his lips.

“You can’t play an instrument,” Hajime replies lowly.

Oikawa shrugs. “What if I just move to Russia and have a farm. Isolate myself. Never have to think about school or university or volleyball.”

“Please do.”

“You’re so rude!”

 

* * *

_“At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, and what we call Being.”_

* * *

  
  
The tradition they’ve had since they were so young they were barely allowed to go out by themselves, since they’ve had tikachu band-aids all over their knees and scabs, is climbing up the hill as soon as the weather gets warm enough. They buy a large box of pizza, a drink of choice (as the years passed, they’ve slowly transferred from juices and sodas to beers) and hike twenty minutes up the hill to see the entire city next to a shrine. The view up there is simply stunning, and Hajime always forget how amazing it is, taking him out of breath. It doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of a day and the sun is shining high, or if the night has already fallen and enveloped the shrine in darkness, the only light source coming from the town below. Wind blows far more strongly here than in town, and Hajime needs to pull the hood of the jacket over his head as Oikawa shields them both with a huge woollen scarf he’s had since they were five and called it a blanket.

Something like a pretty weird breakup won’t make those two give up on their traditions, obviously. So as the snow finally melts and days get warmer, they find themselves climbing up the nasty hill on a Friday after school with a cardboard square box and a six pack in hands.

They share a pair of earphones as they eat the lukewarm pizza, grease and ketchup all over their chins and hands while they laugh, swallowing it with sips of cheap beer from Oikawa’s fridge. They talk about school and volleyball and gossip their friends and people from school - all the usual. Oikawa (because he’s a hipster trash) takes pictures of everything around them, as he always does.

(Hajime never notices how many pictures he takes of him.)

They wipe their hands with napkins they brought along, sitting in silence as wind blows around them and some indie song Oikawa chose filling their ears. The sun sets by them and envelops them in a faint sort of orange glow that makes Oikawa’s skin look radiant and eyes gleam in that honey-brown shade. Hajime can’t tear his eyes away.

“I miss you.”

Hajime feels a pang deep in his chest, throat constricting as if he’s choking. He closes his eyes.

“Tooru. Don’t. Please.”

 _I miss you too_.

 

* * *

_Do you see O my brothers and sisters? It is not chaos or death - it is form, union, plan - it is eternal life - it is Happiness._

* * *

  
Hajime leaves for college a week before his classes start and his mother cries tears he can’t recognize if they’re happy or sad.

His father hugs him tight and mumbles something about being good and responsible and how proud he is of his son. He pats his dog who senses something unusual is going on; she licks his face and he almost feels like crying.

Oikawa comes to say goodbye too.

“I love you,” Oikawa whispers in his ear as they part, and usually Hajime would stop him from saying such things, but today is an exception and a sob escapes his lips before he can help it. He squeezes Oikawa tighter against him and tangles his fingers in his hair, kisses his cheek and closes his eyes.

“You too,” he mumbles somewhat incomprehensibly. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

When they part, Oikawa is just as much of a mess as he is.

 

He unpacks his boxes in the dorm more for something to do than anything else; there’s a weird sort of emptiness in his chest that can’t seem to get away. His roommate comes to introduce himself he’s kind of loud and obnoxious and does nothing to stop the headache that seems to be forming. He talks of some house party going on later this week and invites Hajime, who is reluctant to accept the invitation. His fingers hover over the name in his phone as his roommate chats to him about god knows what and he debates calling. But then he locks his phone and puts it back in his pocket, deciding to instead finish unpacking.

 

* * *

_When I give I give myself._

* * *

  
In his first year of university, Iwaizumi Hajime meets a boy.

He meets a boy with bleached hair and sparkling eyes, flannel shirts and leather boots that come up to his calves.

The boy - Hiroyuki, Hajime quickly learns - talks of music and film and politics, doesn’t drop a cigarette from his mouth any time of the day except from maybe probably sleeping. He smells like smoke and coffee and takes pictures of anything and everything, is a film major who cares too much about some things and too little about other. He kisses him and Hajime feels like he’s breathing all over again.

He shows him foreign movies that have to be watched with subtitles, takes him to gigs in underground basements and holds his hands all throughout the first time in his life that Hajime gets wasted. Hiroyuki comes to cheer for him on his games and invites him to showings of the short films he’s made in ratty old theatres.

He talks about political ideologies and Hajime rolls his eyes at him and laughs but still feels very fond, because that is just another interesting thing about him.

Hajime doesn’t know if he falls in love with the boy or the life he brings with him.

And even early in the relationship, he thinks: it can’t possibly last.

 

The day he plays against Oikawa’s school he feels his knees buckling and hands shaking slightly. He stands across from him on the court and Hajime can’t help but feel choked up and overwhelmed by the energy Oikawa brings with him.

(He wonders if this is how everyone that played against Seijou in high school has felt like. Maybe it’s just him.)

Their eyes lock and Oikawa’s lips make a small ‘o’ shape even though, logically, he probably expected seeing him here, just like Hajime did the same. It still manages to almost knock the breath out of him, make his palms feel clammy and the hair on his neck prickling.

 

When the game ends, they meet each other in the hallway, both freshly showered but still exhausted nonetheless, accidentally knocking into one another.

“Hey,” says Oikawa after apologizing profusely before he notices _who_ he knocked into. “Long time no see.”

“Hi. Um, yeah,” Hajime mumbles, feels himself blushing.

“You played really well today,” Oikawa clears his throat.

“Thanks. You were obviously amazing.”

Maybe it’s the fact they haven’t seen each other in a long time, or maybe it’s Oikawa changing - but Hajime can swear he looks bashful, something he wasn’t quite used to seeing on Oikawa.

“You look good, Hajime,” he feels Oikawa’s piercing gaze on him and stops eye contact. He doesn’t know if he can do this right now.

“Thanks. You too,” but it doesn’t sound the same, and he doesn’t try to fix it.

“Hajime! Come on, we’re gonna miss the train!” He hears a voice behind him and turns.

“I’ll be right there Hiroyuki!” he yells back. “Tooru, um.” He debates if he wants to say anything, but against what is probably better judgement, he opens his mouth. “How long are you staying here? We could go for drinks tonight.”

A look he gets is nothing short of surprised. “Oh, sure. Yeah.”

Hajime gives him thumbs up. “Cool, I’ll text you later.”

 

* * *

_You are also asking me questions and I hear you. I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself._

* * *

 

 When him and Hiroyuki call it quits, he thinks he should probably be a tad bit angrier or sadder or more upset.

Instead, he is none of those things. Sure, he isn’t necessarily _happy_ about it, but it doesn’t eat him alive, it doesn’t make him ache and his skin doesn’t feel too tight around his bones.

They go out for coffee one Monday morning before their classes, talk nice and friendly and the air doesn’t feel strained around them one bit. He wonders why it was never that way with Oikawa, despite trying. Him and Hiroyuki don’t _try_ , and Hajime goes to class thinking they were probably never supposed to be in a relationship - that friendship works better for them. He can’t help but compare those two relationships and breakups; at the same time they’re so similar yet so different. He tries not to dwell on it too much, is thankful for at least finding a really good friend in Hiroyuki.

When they talk next time, he tells Hiroyuki so and he laughs warmly, sound filling the room. They’re in Hiroyuki’s apartment, which he shares with two other roommates. They’re sitting on the green secondhand couch that is oh so inconveniently placed right in the middle of the room. Hajime holds a lukewarm cup of coffee in his hands and takes small sips from it. “Well, we did break up for a reason.”

“I just didn’t think people who broke up and said they’d stay in touch actually did.”

“Didn’t you and Oikawa do the same?”

“Yeah, but we’re different.”

“How come?”

That day, Hajime realizes he never fell out of love with his childhood friend, and wonders how long it’ll last.

 

* * *

_I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least._

_Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself._

* * *

  
On his twenty third birthday, Hajime remembers how he never quite fell out of love.

It’s late afternoon and sun is setting, he can feel chilly even through his thin jacket, or maybe it’s just the nerves. Sunsets in the city are quite a bit different than those in smaller towns, he’s learned to realize over the years. Above him stands a pinkish glow, illuminating Tokyo all around and giving such a calming vibe. It really is beautiful, he thinks. “ _Ah, that beautiful look of global warming,_ ” he knows his childhood friend would say when they see things like this.

A car honks behind him and he jumps up, forgetting how spaced out he’s gotten while crossing the street. The driver behind the wheel presses the gas pedal the second Hajime is out of the way and storms past him, and Hajime is left to wonder if the capital of each country is like this. Somehow this trip to Tokyo is so much different than any other of his before. Not that he needs to wonder why.

“ _Iwa-chan, the more beautiful sunset is, basically, there’s more global warming_ !” he said. “ _Don’t you think it’s funny?_ ”

He jumps into the coffee shop down the street that looks relatively attractive and empty enough that he doesn’t need to wait in the line for too long; orders a medium americano and a cappuccino to-go. He hangs around there for a good while - despite it not being crowded, the service is still unusually slow, scrolls through his social networks on his phone while waiting.

He sits at the small wooden table by the window, looks out again and can’t help but feel transfixed.

The employee calls out for his drinks and soon he’s walking outside on the streets with a coffee in each hand.

He sees a whirl of flowy chestnut hair and a tall figure as he gets closer to the famous monument. He gets spotted at sort of an alarming speed and Oikawa’s gaze softens instantly. There’s a warm sort of smile on his lips as Hajime gets closer, and he can’t look away.

“Surprised you managed to actually find a way here,” he comments casually. Hajime wants to flick his shoulder but instead lets it go, not wanting to spill coffee.

Instead, he gets embraced in a crushing hug against the taller man, and it should probably be uncomfortable but instead it’s nothing of. He feels warm and giddy and every time he’s near Oikawa he remembers how in love he’s been since he was a booger-eating boy.

They part and stand looking at each other for probably a bit too long if anyone saw them, drinking in one another after being separated for months.

“Hey there,” Oikawa chirps and Hajime feels like laughing from how giddy he feels.

“Hey,” he pushes the americano towards the other man.

Oikawa kisses his cheek and laughs, delighted; eyes sparkling and lips stretched out in that honest smile of his Hajime loves seeing.

“Best boyfriend ever.”

“I just got you coffee, stop being a nuisance.”

 

* * *

_I exist as I am - that is enough._

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was so difficult for me to write tbh


End file.
